


The Key

by LeafOnTheWind



Series: Fluffy Fluffs [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Middle Ages, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Once They Realize The Other Exists, Steve Rogers Can use Magic, Steve Rogers is a Shapeshifter, Time Travel, Time with the Faeries Is Strange, You Catch More Flies With Honey Than Vinegar, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOnTheWind/pseuds/LeafOnTheWind
Summary: Steve was lost for 70 years. When he returns, he finds his legend as Cap has grown immensely, and now people are vying for his hand left and right. He's still mourning for his lost life, so he sets the suitors an impossible task: whoever is first to open his front door with the key from his beloved cat’s collar shall be his spouse.Little do they know that Steve is a shapeshifter.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Fluffy Fluffs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071554
Comments: 13
Kudos: 173





	The Key

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this Tumblr post: https://gettingvetted.tumblr.com/post/184798219495/browntiger15-siniristiriita-story-idea-the
> 
> Me: looks at all my WIPs, both on AO3 and my computer, the ones I really should be working on  
> Me: ...  
> Me: time to write another oneshot!

Steve wasn’t always Captain America. He’d always been small and prone to fights he couldn’t win. When the war came to his hamlet of Brooklyn, it was no different, until it was, and Erskine gave him the super soldier serum. Then he fought fights he could win for those that couldn’t. He fought, and fought, and fought for his home, and just as they were winning, he vanished.

He did not run away, nor was he frozen in time, nor captured by the enemy, as so many thought, but hidden with the fair folk in the forest. Strength was not the only gift the serum had given him, and Steve’s uncontrolled magic was beginning to draw attention to his town and its surrounding woodlands, so they stole him away.

Time is strange, with the fair folk. It was a day, perhaps. Steve had grown up with the stories about the imps and fairies and magical creatures of all types, so he did not give them his name, he did not eat their food or make promises or agree to anything at all before he was allowed to leave.

It was a day, perhaps, and yet it was seventy years before he emerged from the forest.

\--

Steve is out to market when he finally snaps.

He was extremely fortunate, he thought when he first returned, that he was made into a legend. _Captain America_ , as if he were the sole cause of the war’s success. There were songs about him, children named him as their hero. It was only due to this fame that he had a home to go to after seventy years, it having been made into a museum shortly after his disappearance. He could start right where he left off, if everyone he knew weren’t dead.

He’d had a family, a sweetheart, friends, all gone now. He just wanted a period to mourn what he’d lost, yet all these new folks felt they were entitled to Captain America’s time, to Steve Rogers’ _life_.

The proposals, above all, felt cruel.

So Steve, after only a fortnight of this, snaps in the central square, on the day of the festival the town had put together for his return. He didn’t ask for any of this, yet here it is, and he’s the guest of honor, he can’t _leave_ , they say. He smiles with no happiness in his eyes, and asks to make a speech. The mayor is overjoyed.

In truth, he can’t leave. He doesn’t have any resources, all his connections are dead. He just needs to be left alone for a while, and perhaps mess with the people who are the worst culprits.

Steve takes the stage. He has never been comfortable with public speaking but these people will forgive him nearly anything. “Hello, Brooklyn!” he starts as a cheer rises. Everyone likes a shoutout. “Forgive me if I’m a little, ah, unused to public speaking, it’s been a while.” It was not meant as a joke, but the crown titters. He really doesn’t have the patience for this. “So I’ve heard quite a few of you mention it’s time for me to settle down, after so long as a bachelor. I hear you, and I’ve made a choice for those who care to hear it,” he says, silence falling as they hang on every word. He raises his hand, and the sun glints off of a tiny golden skeleton key he’s just conjured.

“This is the key to my front door.” It is now, at least. “And I will wed the first person after today to use this to open it. Now,” he holds a hand up to the town, “that does not mean it will be easy. At the end of this day, I will string this key to my cat’s collar, and it is there alone that you will be able to find it.”

A murmur passes through the crowd, as a fair few appear to begin their plots. Most have not seen a cat anywhere near Captain America’s home, though a pair of children claim to have spotted a tabby in his window once.

“You may use any tools at your disposal, but know that if you harm him, you will not be forgiven, nor anyone who helps you do so, whether it is an accident or not.” Steve’s tone brooks no argument there. “Beyond that,” his eyes glint with mischief, “good luck.”

\--

The next few days and weeks play out essentially as Steve imagined. Yes, there were still strangers hanging around his house, but people had at least mostly stopped approaching him for proposals, shy or brazen, as he’s just trying to live his life. Now that he’s given them a path, people are taking it rather than battering him down on all sides.

Of course that means his cat needs to show his face, now. So a few times a week, an unassuming tabby leaps from the window at the front of the cottage and takes a stroll about the village, or climbs a tree or two at the edge of the woods (no farther, he’s learned his lesson there), or scratches at the ramparts on the roof of the government building.

That’s how they start, of course.

The first day the cat slinks out of the house, he’s halfway down the street before being accosted straight on, a muscular man leaping forward just after crossing the yard. The man, one Brock Rumlow and part of a strike force in play nowadays, grits his teeth as he gathers the his wits. Staring at the cat through the corner of his eyes, he makes his way slowly in its direction before attacking once more.

This cat is no fool, of course, and the man’s lunge soon turns to a stumble as he weaves his way through Rumlow’s legs, tripping him up. He can’t hurt him, rule number one. By the time he’s stabilized, the cat is bounding across the rooftops.

By the second week, people begin getting more creative. Rumlow throws a net. The cat’s eyes widen in shock, and it leaps supernaturally fast out of the way before licking a paw dismissively, sending a careless glance the way of the tosser and strolling away.

The fourth week leads with a line of fatty tuna, expensive in this area of the world, cut into small chunks and leading a path through the fence and towards a large cache of the same. Of course, that cache is under a box propped up and ready to come down the moment the cat gets within range. Clever, but not clever enough. People are still distracted by this path, though, so two or three days a week of aggressive assholes is a small price to pay for the rest of Steve’s free time.

At least this time, he gets some fatty tuna out of the deal, rather than torn clothes and unwanted groping.

In the sixth week of this, Steve is beginning to tire of this whole game. It’s gotten him some time to reassess his life, to start making bonds with people even if they tend more towards hero-worship than he’d prefer. He’s met a newer veteran, Sam, an archer for the king’s men by the name of Clint, a spy that tried to seduce him until he made clear she wasn’t his type, so to speak, at which point she dropped the act and started helping him deflect others. He thinks they’re quite good friends at this point, and is finally, finally starting to feel almost normal, even is he does still miss Peggy something fierce.

Of course, Steve still roams the village, still gets attacked left and right, though it appears only the truly determined are still doing so.

That is why it is such a surprise when he comes across that man.

Steve is used to his cat form being attacked when he exits the cottage, at this point. It’s just a matter of fact, the cat leaves the cottage, he is chased, or tricked, or otherwise manipulated into someone’s arms. At least, they try. He’s starting to have to use actual magic to get away, now, which is a bad sign, he’s sure.

He is panting after losing a group of three working together when he hears a door creak open. He’s immediately on guard, but the man exiting the building seems just as shocked as he does. Eyes wide, he cautiously lowers himself to sit on the old, wooden steps of his home. They creak as he does so, the paint chipping slightly where his—silver?—hand rests. The man sends a tentative smile his way, tightlipped but almost sweet.

They stare at each other for a bit, unblinking, as the cat’s fur slowly relaxes down, his back no longer arched. Steve breaks the eye contact first, on guard again as he hears the approach of the group, and bounds off towards home. Today has been long enough without another chase scene.

\--

That man was different than the others. Calmer, even if there was a shadow behind his eyes. He didn’t chase him, he didn’t try to trick him. His appearance certainly didn’t hurt, either.

Steve starts seeing him everywhere. He’s seen everyone in the town, and perhaps he had just overlooked this one in his attempts to avoid people. Perhaps.

But the next time Steve is haggling over apples at the stall, he sees him across the way, staring hard at a length of cloth. When Steve is chopping wood next to his cottage for the coming winter, James is tripping on the sidewalk, turning his head away, flushed. When Steve is exiting the tavern with Sam and Clint late one evening, James is poised to open the door on the other side.

Steve doesn’t know how it’s possible he’d missed this man in the past. He towers over the rest of the people he knows, his rugged jawline is frankly sinful, and his left arm is shiny and metallic. Not exactly a common trait in a town such as this.

As they’re walking back to their homes, cloaks bundled about them, Steve can no longer stand it. “Who was that man, the one with the silver arm?”

Sam blinks at him. “It’s been months and you haven’t met yet? Aw jeez, you two’ll get along like a house on fire, I guarantee it.”

James Barnes is a veteran, same as Sam, but he was a POW for a time. That’s when he got his arm, Sam explains, as a reward for his service and a payment for his sacrifice the king paid an exorbitant sum for an enchanted prosthetic. He tells Steve the man—James—used to be a bit of a charmer, but Steve finds that hard to see in his quiet demeanor, his somber nods. He’s a member of Sam’s group therapy in the government building, making slow progress he’s assured, though he’s still a bit disconnected from the other townspeople according to Sam.

Steve sees it the next time he spots James. He doesn’t stop for small talk, though he helps with small problems quite frequently. James might occasionally pause after handing a child their dropped doll, as if searching for something to say. He never seems to say anything.

So the cat shows up once more at James’ residence, this time without a group hounding him, the conjured key still securely on his neck. James doesn’t appear to be there, but there are dishes set out on the steps, one of chicken scraps, the other of clean well-water. Steve is immediately on guard, and searches for a trap. It’s too bad, he had thought better of James, after last time. He wanted to think better of James.

He sees nothing obvious. Well, the only way to know for sure what a trap is is to spring it. He pads cautiously forward, ears pricked for the sound of anything flying through the air, eyes scanning for tripwires or other cues, but nothing happens by the time he gets to the bowls.

Poison, then? Not anything serious, but enough to knock him out? Catnip, to make him docile? He sniffs the chicken and finds only the pervasive scent of poultry, though it appears there’s a few herbs as well. Rosemary, sage, parsley, thyme. No catnip, nor valerian root. Steve’s slit eyes glow a light blue as he does a more in depth search, checks for poisons or any drugs. Nothing. He turns to the water and does the same. Still nothing.

He blinks in surprise. It appears there’s no trap, no reason to mistrust this. James… just left food out for a cat he’d seen, no more, no less. Even if he wants the key, wants Steve, he’s not making moves towards it, he’s not even here. He is doubly surprised to recognize his own disappointment with that revelation, but Steve supposes that’s life.

The chicken is delicious, and he finishes every bit, licking the stray seasoning off the bowl roughly. He turns to go, glancing back from down the road to find James crouching next to the empty bowls, beaming.

His heart beats loudly in his chest. _Oh_.

\--

After that, the cat begins to visit James more frequently. Whenever he is sure he’s thrown off what few pursuers are left, he heads to James’, where there is sure to be a small portion of whatever James has eaten that day, James always hiding until he’s gone.

Until he gets fed up once more, that is, and hides close to the wall, where James cannot see, until James comes out to clean the dishes. He sees that beautiful grin again, and holds in one of his own as he walks to the open doorway, sitting regally on his hindpaws. It would not do to unnerve him too much.

James turns and sees the cat, sitting serenely, and drops the bowls. He flinches at the sudden noise, and James immediately recoils, apologizing quietly, trying not to frighten the cat more than he already has, but he settles quickly. He waits for James to calm down himself.

Torn between retreating to his home and not invading the cat’s personal space, James hovers for a moment before taking a seat once more on the steps. Steve preens with satisfaction.

They sit there in silence for quite a while, just together, until the sky begins to darken and James’ breaths are coming out in clouds. They both begin to shiver.

The cat takes pity on James and stands up, walking towards him. James is frozen, his breaths deep and purposeful, as he hops down the steps, rubbing his scent gland along James’ legs as he goes off into the night, back towards his cottage.

This time, when he looks back, James waves. Steve flicks his tail in response.

\--

It’s been three months since Steve set forth his challenge, a full season, and people are beginning to forget. The town has grown used to his presence. There’s still a tinge of awe, but once someone has been seen helping raise a barn or drinking at the local tavern with some locals, same position as anyone else, it begins to fade.

There are only two who still actively seek out Steve’s cat, and the others are starting to look at them askance. The cat still does his walks about town, but by now everyone knows where they end.

James is outside waiting for him today, and Steve weaves between his legs playfully until they both take a seat on the steps. The wind is cold even this early, now, yet James still waits outside, now with both of their dinners. They eat together companionably, comfortable together after all this time.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _This one is mine._

James finishes his food to find the cat staring at him once more, rather than playfully as he has of late. He puts his plate to the side and puts his arms to the side, letting the cat lead the interaction.

He does. Instead of leading into playtime as the cat so often does, pulling at James’ hair or climbing his shirt or attacking his metal hand, the cat steps forward and up onto James’ lap, taking his seat once more. James flushes and slowly, well within the cat’s field of vision, brings his hand—his real hand, flesh and trembling with cold—up to pet the cat’s ears. He closes his eyes slowly and begins to purr, and James continues his ministrations.

The sun begins to set, and even Steve’s small breaths are beginning to show in the autumn air.

Steve opens his eyes and stops purring, so James stops. Hesitantly, the human brings up his silver hand magicked into use up to the cat’s collar. He peers questioningly at the cat, hardly believing his luck when the cat nods in confirmation.

James takes the golden key with a spark of magic between the two, the key shining red in the sunset, and Steve wiggles happily, leaping to the ground. James sits there, dumbfounded, until, for the first time, the cat meows.

He jerks to his feet, taking a moment to lock his own door, and turns to find the cat waiting patiently for him at his wooden gate. He meows again, impatiently this time, waiting for James to catch up. It’s cold outside, after all.

He leads him all the way back to Steve’s cottage, ignorant of the chaos they are setting in motion in the neighbours’ houses. Those who see the procession are half in disbelief and half thrilled at the sheer pandemonium likely to unfold in the morning, but neither James nor the cat care much at the moment.

They finally reach Steve’s cottage, the front garden thick with wildflowers despite the season, and the cat meows once more as it leaps to the windowsill, its tail flicking joyously, and into his home. A plume of smoke billows out of the chimney, and the lamps are lit as he stands there, hardly believing where he is. He just needs to take one step, two, three and he’s at Steve’s door.

The key tinks against his magical hand once more, his flesh-and-bone one shuddering too much from the cold and nerves alike, as he brings it to the keyhole. It fits perfectly, and turns smooth as fresh butter.

He pushes the door open to a burst of warmth, and Steve is there, looking almost as nervous as James feels, his golden hair haloed by the lamp burning behind him. _Beautiful_ , he thinks.

Then Steve’s lips meet James’, and neither of them think much at all.


End file.
